


Ambush and Good Things to Come of It

by Chinagirl18



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Actually lots of cheesiness, And hints of Vaxleth, Cinnamon Roll Grog, Feeling the cheer, Gen, I really wanted to write something, I'm forgetting some tags, Is it 2017 yet?, One-Shot, Over Christmas, Pike is my spirit gnome, Protective!Vox Machina, Some Cheesiness, With hints of Perc'ahlia, all relationships are friendships, so I wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9115093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinagirl18/pseuds/Chinagirl18
Summary: Vox Machina goes on a walk, encounters someone new, and learns some things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I was so excited to get this posted. Beware of cheesiness. I hope I wrote VM's voices alright.

Vox Machina walks through the forest on a lightly-treaded path. Grog carries Pike on his shoulders, Pike resting her chin on crossed arms, perched on top of Grog’s hairless but warm head. Scanlan walks beside them, playing a little mindless tune on his instrument. At the front of the group is Keyleth, performing wind cantrips with the colorful leaves lying on the ground. Vax watches her, his affection obvious to all but him and Keyleth, smiling occasionally to himself. In the middle of the pack treads Vex and Percy, talking quietly about their adventures before Vox Machina, occasionally referencing all the way back to their childhoods.

Grog smiles to himself from the back of the group, able to see all members of Vox Machina. He loves his family. He realizes that they can be stubborn sometimes, but they can also be super awesome. Grog finds particular enjoyment from Scanlan’s clever songs that he uses while fighting or even when visiting whore houses. The ladies love musicians, Scanlan always says.

Grog has to confess, however, that his favorite part of Vox Machina is Pike, and will always be Pike. Pike, his little buddy. Pike, the monstahhh. Pike, the angelic presence with a god’s blessings, healer to all, even to people they don’t like. Pike, his savior when he needed it most. She’s small but tough, and holds her own in boss fights. Hell, she’s killed a dragon! Simply put, he would give up everything for Pike, and he was sure the other members would do the same.

Pike wriggles on his shoulders and yawns, stretching her arms upward. High enough to touch the branches above them as they walk, she runs her hands through the still attached velvet leaves. Vex and Percy, hearing her wake up, take a quick glance back at her, smile, and then return to their conversation. Keyleth is too absorbed in playing with the elements, and Vax is too absorbed in Keyleth.

Pike looks down at Grog and hugs his forehead. “Hey, big buddy,” she says. “How’s the walk so far?”

“Easy pea-sy,” replies Grog, walking slightly taller than before with a big smile on his face. “How’s the weather up there?”

“Very colorful, like a painting.” Pike takes a look at the ground, hearing the crunch of the brown leaves under their feet. “Even the ground looks oddly beautiful.”

“Good afternoon, Pikey,” says Scanlan from the ground, still plucking away at his music. “Sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you Scanlan,” she replies, giving him a big smile. “I heard your music in my dreams.” She pauses and laughs when Scanlan lifts an eyebrow at her. Grog chuckles a little, too, a soft, deep rumble from beneath her. “Don’t take that the wrong way,” she says, softly kicking Grog’s shoulders. She pauses again, this time with a little smile herself. “It _is_ pretty nice to wake up to, though.”

“Hey, Scanlan,” Grog beckons from below Pike. “Can you play that fancy tune you did when we were fightin’ that Gilmore wanna-be, Hotis?”

“Your wish is my command,” confirms Scanlan, and he plays the first five notes before he hears the rustling of leaves above him, and the clanging of metal.

Simultaneously, Grog shouts and stops as a weight lifts from his shoulders, and turns back to look up at the branches. The other four members of the group halt and do the same.

Scanlan follows suit. To his surprise - and anger - Pike no longer sits atop Grog’s shoulders, but instead struggles in the arms of a black-eyed half-elf wearing dark clothing. Pike squirms, choking, as the lower half of her body dangles from the half-elf’s arms. A thin, bony hand encircles Pike’s throat, while the other arm hugs her tight around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides. Pike’s shield hangs uselessly by her hip, and her mace has slid down her back and hangs by her legs. No matter how much Pike kicks and struggles, less and less every minute, her escape attempts are futile.

No one says anything but steps into action together — Vex expertly pulls out her bow and arrow and aims; Vax pulls his dagger; Keyleth steps into a position to commune with the trees; Percy cocks his gun; Grog stands in a fighting position directly under Pike holding his hammer; and Scanlan grasps his lute tightly as he desperately thinks of spells that could get his fellow gnome out of harm’s way. He decides that conjuring Bigby’s Hand would be all too indiscrete and almost certainly provoke theenemy.

“I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” says the half-elf with a deep, gravelly voice. “I see anyone attack or try any spells” — he looks at Scanlan and Keyleth, who in return give him dirty looks — “and this little gnome receives a broken neck.” He hugs his captive tighter from the trees, and Pike’s eyes grow larger while her mouth opens and closes, trying to inhale as much air as possible. She can see her symbol of Sarenrae hanging below her, shining in the sunlight that catches it just right. The chain underneath the half-elf’s hand digs into her neck painfully. She is sure she will have a chain-shaped bruise around her neck after this.

“Let her go, and we can talk through this,” tries Vex, keeping her arrow level.

The half-elf ignores her request. “You have trespassed onto our territory. Tell me why you’re here.”

Vax readjusts his grip on his daggers slightly, and answers, “We were doing some sight-seeing further out east and we’re heading back home. We mean no intrusion.” It’s mostly a lie, he knows, but it is delivered convincingly.

“We don’t even know who you are,” adds Keyleth from her spot by the tree. Her left hand continues to grasp the rough bark, silently channeling the Suntree’s presence. The Suntree, however, still seems far away.

“Give her some air, at least, if you won’t release her,” says Percy, his voice dangerous.

The newcomer’s expression does not change. However a second later, Pike heaves a large gasp and coughs violently as the grasp around her neck loosens just enough, her lungs starved from air for way too long. The half-elf’s grip around her waist tightens even more, though, and her metal gauntlets dig painfully into her sides.

Scanlan looks up at her. “Are you alright, Pike?”

She winces as she coughs again, but is able to reassure the others. “Yes, I’m alright.”

The rest of the crew visibly relaxes just a bit, relieved that their gentle gnome cleric would remain conscious for the time being.

“There we go,” says Percy, nodding. “Now, what is it that you want?”

“Materially, nothing,” says the half-elf, glaring back at Percy. “Respect. Honor. To be taken seriously. That’s what I want. That’s what _we_ want.”

“Sounds a bit like a whiny teenager to me,” says Scanlan under his breath.

The dark half-elf hears him and glares at him. “Disrespect means death, little gnome.” He releases Pike’s neck, quickly snakes his hand behind his waist, and pulls out a very lethal-looking dagger, immediately pressing it to Pike’s cheek.

Scanlan’s sneaking smile disappears completely, a dangerous new fire growing in him. How dare this piece of scum use the holiest of them all against them!

The others readjust their stances, grasping their weapons even harder. Vax releases a string of curses.

Finally, Keyleth feels something from the presence of the surrounding plant life, just as the dark half-elf’s eyes begin to shake, perhaps with rage, perhaps with something else. She speaks to them aloud and confidently, “Get him.”

The half-elf hears this and noticeably tenses, pressing the point of the blade deep enough into Pike’s cheek to draw a drop of blood, warranting desperate silence from the gnome cleric once again. “Whatever you just did,” he directs at Keyleth, “undo it now, or my threat will hold true.”

“Hey, tree rat!” shouts Grog, attempting to grab his attention from Keyleth. The half-elf turns his gaze impatiently at Grog. “If you kill our friend, we won’t hold back from doing the same to you.”

To emphasize the point, Vex pulls back further on her bow and Percy aims between the half-elf’s eyes.

“I hope your shot is perfect.” He drags the dagger down Pike’s cheek and—

—And before he can get further, vines and branches shoot out from all sides, grabbing at his arms, his legs, his neck, forcing the dagger away from Pike, and pulling his other arm away from her waist. With nothing keeping her aloft, Pike falls ten feet straight down, right into Grog’s outstretched arms. She coughs a few times and then looks up at the half-orc. “Thanks, buddy.”

Grog smiles down at her — “You’re welcome, buddy.” — and then refocuses on the entangled enemy, losing the smile.

The half-elf, still holding his dagger, lets out a frustrated yell and struggles to free himself, though the greenery only pulls tighter. Vox Machina looks up at him, hearts still beating fast from what could have been a deadly encounter.

Keyleth commands the plants to bring the creature down to Pike, face-to-face.

“Let me down, Grog,” beckons Pike. “I need to speak with him, and I’d rather it be natural.”

Grog obeys, a concerned look on his face, and sets Pike on the ground. She takes a second to balance herself, and then regains her posture and approaches the half-elf, suspended three feet in the air by vines. The half-elf, in return, makes an almost animalistic growl at her as she gets closer, pulling at his binds. He glares at her with hate and, she can pick out, a little sadness.

“I can tell you’re hurting,” Pike says, examining his face. It is dirtied with shades of green and brown from the forest. There are small cuts on his face, and a long and deep healed scar down his left cheek, reaching from the corner of his eye to the top of his lip. “You’ve been hurt in the past. I am truly sorry for all that you’ve suffered.”

The half-elf ceases his displeasured noises and only breathes deeply. His struggles also stop. He looks back at Pike, seeing a light aura shining subtly around her.

“May I ask your name?”

He seems to think it over for a minute, and then answers. “Syron.”

“Syron,” says Pike quietly. It sounds graceful on her tongue, and Scanlan thinks it does not belong to one who mercilessly kills another.

“I wish we had met in more pleasant circumstances, Syron.”

He continues to look at her, but his face softens, and the vines give a little slack.

Pike reaches for the scar across his cheek, and to Scanlan’s surprise, he does not retaliate at all, or even flinch away. She traces it gently with her thumb.

“As you can see, Syron, I have one, too,” and then she traces the long scar over her eye. His eyes follow her motion carefully. His brow furrows, curious as to what caused such an injury.

“It was from a time when I was struggling in faith and strength,” she explains. “I had been slain in battle, and when my friends brought me back,” she gestures to the rest of Vox Machina, “I decided I needed some time away to strengthen myself so that I wouldn’t fall in battle again. I became a sailor on the high seas, lending a helping hand to anyone and any trouble that found us, and lending a healing hand to those who sought it.”

Keyleth watches, and seeing that Syron no longer resists and listens intently to Pike’s story, she allows the vines to bring him to the ground, upright, so he could stand on his own. Although they are still bound around his body, the vines hang loose. Syron does not seem to notice and only stands where he is. He bends at his waist, almost down to Pike’s height, as if his chest is too heavy to hold up.

The rest of the team listens intently, the story of how she acquired that particular scar also new to them.

“It was a crew of twelve on _The Broken Howl_ ,” continues Pike, “and I considered them my sea family. We all watched out for each other, day and night. One day, however, we were ambushed by pirates. There were fourteen of them. I remember that number because it was twice as many as my friends that died that day. For some reason only known to Sarenrae, they decided to leave us remaining five alive to drift at sea. Of course, they couldn’t leave us without roughing us up a bit. We gave ‘em a challenge, though.” Pike pauses a second, as if pushing down an emotion begging to be let out. “We made it back finally, and it forced me to realize that family is _so_ important, and we take them for granted.” She looks back at her friends — her newest family — behind her, some with shock on their faces, some with pity and sadness.

“These friends,” she turns backs to Syron, “are the best of Sarenrae’s gifts that I could receive. I will never take them for granted.

“Someone hurt you, whether it be enemy or ally, but I urge you to let go of that anger, because the ones who love you want you to love them back. If anger fills your heart, there is no room for love, for gratitude, or for peace.”

Pike reaches out her hand again and cups Syron’s face while her other hand grasps her holy symbol. “May Sarenrae bless you and look after you, and may her wisdom and love shine through you always.”

She looks back at Keyleth. The druid understands, and commands the vines to release the half-elf completely, letting them hang harmlessly around him. As they do, Syron stands still, breathing, foggy eyes staring at the ground. Pike steps away.

It takes a moment before Syron blinks out of his trance-like state and looks up at the group in front of him — a white-haired gnome cleric, the most peaceful presence he has known; a tall, strong half-orc looking down protectively at the healer; a small gnome with long hair tied in a ponytail, watching him carefully; a human who looks at him through small glass spectacles; half-elf twins, the male eyeing him sadly, the female tilting a head and giving him a small smile; and a female druid with leaves in her hair, a small glittering tear sliding down her face.

He takes in Pike’s appearance one more time before jumping to a branch above him and maneuvering silently away from the group.

Pike looks up towards the treetops for a few seconds and then turns to face the others. A smile still lingers and her hand stays on her symbol, close to her heart.

“I love you guys,” she says to them.

Everyone’s faces break into smiles.

“We love you too, darling,” says Vex.

“Well.” Pike claps her hands together. “I don’t know about you all, but I’ve seemed to acquire a rather large appetite for chicken.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, all! Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!


End file.
